


Eighteen.

by ovur



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Diary/Journal, personal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 12:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ovur/pseuds/ovur
Summary: (A collection of brief personal reflections from an eighteen year old in Canada).





	Eighteen.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Riley Moore](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Riley+Moore).



> The saddest thing about our story is that we could have made it work. If you cared for me like I you, you would have fought. But you didn't. So it is clear, I was right every time that I told you how I loved you more. You always dismissed it, but now we know.

22:45  
After all this time, I still can't let you go. I know I miss you because it happens in broad daylight, when I'm driving and my right hand feels empty, I think about how great your laugh would sound in the silent parts of the song. I miss you just as much at 14:00, when I'm smiling and laughing, as I do at 2AM when the world is falling apart. Sometimes I want to scream but screaming is not in my nature, so I shut down and sleep for days and days and days until I wake up and finally feel completely silenced. I am so angry, always, at the choices I made, the things I could not control, and the things I want to forget. This was the problem: I loved you too much. Thought of you too much. This stands true still as memories of you continue to shatter the life out of me.   
Now we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. Once, when it was us, I was beautiful. Now I am myself, counting this row and that row of moccasins waiting on the silent shelf.  
If I could tell you something, it would be that: loving the art of an artist, and not the mood swings that come along with it, is like grabbing them by the wrists and not their hands. You just let me leave. You didn't think twice, you didn't even blink. You just told me how you wished it could be different. The saddest thing about our story is that we could have made it work. If you cared for me like I you, you would have fought. But you didn't. So it is clear, I was right every time that I told you how I loved you more. You always dismissed it, but now we know. You couldn't handle it, and you left. You left like we never had right, like you forgot the summer nights and rooftop conversations. Like the world wasn't already against us... like my brain wasn't already eating me alive. Like everything was nothing,

**Author's Note:**

> There are universes where I made different choices.


End file.
